Cardio.
She’s running.
She’s always running.
She’s getting away from herself, toward something else entirely. She runs for the movement, the pace, the speed. It makes her feel productive when she can’t think straight being still.
Moving helps the blood and the thoughts flow. She can be liberated by a bit of the tension caused in her brain, all the worries, concerns, upsets that swish back and forth, echoing her fears louder and louder until she feels like she’s going to snap.
That’s when she runs.
Hard.
Fast.
On flat or rocky terrain, doesn’t matter.
She’ll run.
Her heart will race.
Her breath will become unsteady.
But she won’t stop until she can’t take another step.
She jokes that cardio is the best exercise because there’s always something to run from, might as well be fit enough to do so.
She doesn’t expect that something to be a blood-stained axe swinging at her in the hands of a ruthless maniac, laughing, the steam of his breath fogging the air between them.
Run.
